Sometimes when I lie awake at night, when I grow weary of the electronic hum from my household devices and the symphony of snoring from my parents, I like to pretend I’m a shooting star. Flying miles overhead, away from all the pain and hatred that humans seem to reek of nowadays.

I would soar above the stargazers, the dreamers, and the people who just wanted something to believe in for once. People like me. I would do my best to make their wishes come true, because sometimes everyone needs a dream come true.

Not to mention the awe and wonder that shooting stars draw to themselves, though they disappear just as soon as they come. But which is better? To be around for years and feel alone, unwanted in a word full of your own kind, or to have a fleeting presence and be loved for every second of it?

I think about this a lot, but I try to avoid the answer. I don’t want to know. Or, I don’t want to acknowledge that I know.

And when the answer inevitably slips into my mind past my defenses, and I’m forced to face my lonely reality..

…I cry stardust.

Sydney Tatum is a freshman at Licking Heights High School, and she has been writing since she was a little girl. When she’s not writing, she can be found drawing, singing, taking photos, or reading everything she can get her hands on. She’s an only child, so she has plenty of time to hone her skills.